The Reminder
by Trinity Everett
Summary: He's not wrong; he is leaving something of himself behind when he goes off to write a certain British Secret Agent, but it's neither his insistence upon the proper usage of irony, nor his constant complaints about 'you're' vs 'your' in internet debates that she'll have to remember him. Written for Castle Fanfic Monday.


**The Reminder**

 _A Season 2 AU_

 **A/N** : I rearranged the order of episodes to make this ficlet work, so everyone just assume Vampire Weekend came before When the Bough Breaks. I'll admit, I don't quite know where this came from, but I thought it would be fun to post for Castle Fanfic Monday.

* * *

 _"I may be going, but I'm leaving something of myself behind."_

Well… he's not wrong; he is leaving something of himself behind when he goes off to write _a certain British Secret Agent_ , but it's neither his insistence upon the proper usage of irony, nor his constant complaints about 'you're' vs 'your' in internet debates that she'll have to remember him. No, she'll be keeping something much bigger, something much more permanent than his brilliant command of the English language.

Unable to stare at his profile any longer, willing him to somehow _know_ what she needs to tell him, she turns back to the street.

She wants to be angry with him, but she's more angry with herself. She's the one who rolled over in his bed and ran as soon as she managed to quell the throbbing headache and nausea courtesy of one too many glasses of his mother's spiked punch. When he texted her hours later, once he'd returned to the land of the living, he'd assumed she'd been called out for a body and she hadn't abused him of that notion.

When he returned to the precinct the next day, he hadn't said a word about their Halloween party festivities, so in return neither had she. It's been easier not to talk about it.

Instead, they've taken to sniping at each other over every little thing.

Just a night ago, she fought with him in a crowded room about whether there was _more_ to Nikki Heat, and whether he was the writer to do the fictional version of her justice. She hadn't meant the pot shots she'd taken, and now that she's calmer, she doesn't think he meant what he'd said, either.

But he's still leaving. He's still taking the fucking deal to write something else. To write James _fucking_ Bond instead of the character he'd sworn was _extraordinary_. Extraordinary like _her_.

In spite of all of that, she has to tell him. She wants to and she has to. It may not change anything about his decision, and she's not sure if she even wants it to, but he has to know.

"Castle," she begins, hoping she doesn't sound as pathetically lost as she feels. They're on a stakeout; she can't afford to be preoccupied, but she has to get this out.

"Hmm?"

He squirms in the passenger seat, giving her his full attention for the first time in what feels like weeks.

"Castle, I –"

And, of course, a flash of blonde catches her eye at exactly that moment. Damn it. Too slow again, Beckett.

"Castle, it's her, Talbot's wife. C'mon. She's going for the mail."

They both know it's not what she'd been trying to say, but he doesn't argue when she slides out of the car and makes her way to Mrs. Talbot. Case first, conversation second.

* * *

In the end, it's bittersweet. They get their guy, but a woman died and two families have been ruined forever thanks to one man's selfish decision. She's seen more than her share of cases like this, but this one leaves her shoulders heavy with melancholy.

It doesn't help that this is it with Castle. The end of the story. He's going off to write his new project, and she's…

Well, she's right here. She'll continue to be right here. She'll have a piece of him, a reminder of their partnership, a _baby_.

Shit, she could have a family with him if she just opens her mouth to tell him. To ask him to be a part of her life, if not her work.

His hand tightens around hers, his fingers clammy. Reluctance pulls at his features as he opens and closes his mouth, fighting for words. "You take care of yourself, and –"

She tries to respond, tries to force herself to speak, but the words die in her throat. She can't tell him she's having his baby in someone else's apartment lobby.

"And –"

And the universe hates them both. It has to; that's the only explanation she can think of for why their phones start ringing in unison.

"Ah, it's… my agent."

Peeling her phone off her belt, Kate glances at the display. "The station," she murmurs, stepping back to answer.

She doesn't focus on what being said. Her eyes stay on Castle, on the line of his shoulders, the way his chest lifts with pride as he tells her the early numbers for _Heat Wave_ are through the roof.

Oh. He's proud of the book. He's proud of Nikki Heat.

He's –

Montgomery comes on the line, wasting no time in telling her something about the mayor and his re-election, something about a favor being asked of the department – of her.

"No, I would love to help the department out in whatever way I could."

She watches confusion mar Castle's face, but she can't hear what may have caused it, not with Montgomery in her ear, explaining that the mayor wants her to –

"He wants me to what?"

 _Let Castle stay_. The mayor wants her to let Castle stay. For not one book, not two, but three. Three more novels. Three – shit, three books. That would take…

"That could take forever!"

Which isn't a bad thing. It's not. It's the blessing she needed. The sign that things will be okay. They can be partners. They can be friends. They can have a kid together and tackle everything in between.

Castle's radiating terror as she hangs up. His chest heaves as he stutters through an explanation that it wasn't his doing, that he had nothing to do with his people calling the mayor and the mayor calling her boss. She knows he didn't; she knows he'd been about to go, however reluctant he may have been.

He winces when she closes the distance between them. It's no secret that he's expecting her to grab his nose, maybe his ears when she lifts her arms, but she takes his face between her hands instead.

"Beckett, I swear, I didn't –"

"I know," she answers, cutting off his protests with a firm swipe of her lips across his. "I know you didn't. But I'm… you need to know."

"Know what?" he breathes, clasping his fingers around her elbows. The touch settles something in her gut, unfurls the knot of worry she's been carrying around since the first day she'd crouched at her toilet and paid her dues to the Morning Sickness Gods.

Swallowing heavily, she kisses him again, relishing in having him against her for the first time in weeks. "Turns out your mom's punch packs one hell of a wallop."

"Ah, yes. Yes. I… we knew that."

It's the first time either of them have even mentioned their night together. But if he's staying, they have to clear the air.

"Yes, yes we did. But it turns out, the wallop is… pretty significant." She's hedging again, shit. She can't hedge anymore. Not for this. No, she needs to spit it out before his confusion grows. Before she loses her nerve.

"What… do you mean?" His eyes narrow as he studies her face. "What does _significant_ mean, Beckett?"

She exhales, pressing her thumb against his cheek, pulling his frown into something resembling a smile. "I'm pregnant, Castle."


End file.
